Hexes and Curses and Spells, Oh My
by ruiningXdateXnight
Summary: Harry Potter, possessed by Voldemort, must try to go on with his daily struggles at Hogwarts without anyone noticing that he is Voldemort himself. Although Draco is still eagerly awaiting every day to torment Harry, the unpossessed side of Harry starts to form feelings for the Malfoy boy.


**Chapter 1: One Wrong Slip**

The twisting unease had been growing inside Harry for so long that he was worried that he'd ever escape this horrible nightmare. A growing sensation within him – the spirit of a foul malevolence – was always inside him, always forming some new atrocity.

He sat in the boys' dorm room in the Gryffindor Tower, clutching his stomach, which felt like it was going to burst open at some unexpected moment. Harry James Potter had never felt such pain before – and he had had all of his bones removed in his arm accidentally! – yet here he was, an intense burst of fear and pain gnawing at his mind, at his sensitive limbs that screamed with the voice of a thousand sinners.

Someone was calling out his name.

Of course, he had gotten used to that by now, being The Boy Who Lived; but right now wasn't the time to answer to some acquaintance or potential friend. Could they not see that severe internal damage was causing him to break free from reality, and turn him into this raging foul monster of exposed weaknesses?

What was happening to him? Was it grief over Sirius – ? No, he couldn't think of that right now. _Keep your mind off it, focus on getting rid of the pain, rid of the hurt_ … he told himself this but none of it helped.

Stars fluttered over his vision, taunting him with their steadiness and adrenalin-pumping, energy-flooded abilities. All he wanted was to be normal, to not be chased by Dementors, to not be attacked by his bloody cousin every summer, to not be the accused liar of Hogwarts. He felt a familiar twitch of pain reduce itself, his head clearing up slightly but no way did the pain stop.

It felt similar to Occlumency. The pain, that was. Severus Snape, his most hated teacher who taught Potions – and failed to teach _Harry_ correctly, except for the lowering of house points – had taught him Occlumency. It was considered "the art of mystically closing one wizard's mind against Legilimency," which (Legilimency, this was) He Who Must Not Be Named, The Dark Lord by the name of Voldemort, had used upon Harry in violent attacks against his mind.

However, this was no time to think of that, either. Like Snape used to say, the wizard must close off his thoughts, reduce his mind to a blank state where he no longer had to worry nor think nor be frightened of events to come. Maybe Harry had to do this in order for the pain to reduce?

He tried it for the first time. The process seemed easy, but was extremely difficult in that he had so much on his mind that the struggle to not think of _anything_ was too surreal for him.

Harry focused on one spot on the floor of the dorms, his eyes concentrating on that one specific spot so he wouldn't let go of it. Reality had him grounded to the floor. His mind was boiling anew with thoughts – Draco's taunts, the Ministry of Magic and their lies and deceptive tales, Rita Skeeter's false articles, Hermione, Ron, Lucius, _Sirius is dead, Sirius is gone, Sirius won't be coming back, Harry. He's not behind the veil and he never will be_. All of it spiralled in his head, and it simply wouldn't let him reduce the thoughts so he struggled on and continued for a second time.

No interruptions cast him aside from his intentions. He was going to make sure that none of this ruckus caused him to realise that Hogwarts wasn't worth it, that the O.W.L. exams had been for nothing, that all of his trials and tribulations to fight against the Dark Lord had existed for only one purpose: for Harry Potter, the child who had survived a deathly spell, to fail.

As he sat down, clutching his stomach and occasionally his head, Harry came to the conclusion that his second attempt at turning his mind off and focusing on making it nothing but a blankness array of disappeared thoughts… well, it had gone better the second time round. He had, for a split second, stopped and thought of absolutely nothing, turning it all off for an instant. That was until the vision of Harry's fingernails scraping the surface of the veil came into his mind. A room with spinning walls… someone calling his name, probably Bellatrix who had been shouting and screaming with a triumphant expression on her face, insanity dripping over her skin… the Death Eaters crawling in at either sides, ready to pounce… and his parents, ghostly white against a pale luminescence, telling him to just _keep on going, use the Invisibility Cloak and escape_ … but nothing had worked… Sirius was still gone… still gone… still dead.

His fifth year had been his worst year, Harry realised as he settled back against the cushiony back of the chair that was facing the rest of the dorm but placed near the corner. Before that, it had been the fourth year being the worst year, for he had watched Cedric die right before his eyes, a flash of green light, a yell of " _Avada Kedavra!_ " and he was gone. Before that, it had been the third year being the worst year. So on and so forth…

Every single year, every single time he went back to Hogwarts after spending the holidays with the bloody Dursleys, something went wrong. He went back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and – just so it went – someone died, or a despicable enemy came back from the dead, or someone ended up escaping Azkaban, the wizard prison. He was so sick of it and it built up inside his head like a swelling thunderstorm. How much of it he could take, Harry wasn't sure.

Unease had melted away from his bones, his memories tainted with the feeling of grief, but he still held onto what he had left inside him. Harry suddenly felt a sense of protection and safety as he clutched his wand, the spirit of magic closing around his wrist with an invisible hand. Magic was his home. He always knew that it had been ever since Rubeus Hagrid's announcement that he had officially been declared a wizard, when he had been in that old lighthouse with the Dursleys.

A rush of nostalgia hit him like a wave. All of it, the memories and the callings of echoing names, the rustling of papers, the secret creaking of doors, the rebellious actions to do something worthwhile – Harry remembered it all as a flash in his mind, pounding through his brain with a buzzing of intensity.

He, Harry, returned back to reality, eyes widening to the realisation that he was back and that the pain had faded away. A figure stood over him, casting a looming shadow that taunted him, but the attitude of the figure was familiar: hands dangling by their sides, chin tilted.

Ron Weasley looked down at him as he sat in the chair, almost completely stricken by the fact that one of his friends was actually noticing him here in the aftermath of intense pain. "Harry, mate, you all good?" A quizzical expression rested on his freckled face, short ginger hair sticking up in places, his tall height not overpowering but definitely shadowing that of Harry's.

"Er – um – yeah, sure. Sure, sure, I'm fine – I'm all good," he lied. It was bitter on his tongue when he spoke of a lie, but he had to do it, for telling the truth would end up in Malfoy hearing about his pain, making up some stupid story about how his pain had been caused by his scar – which wasn't true. No, this was something different… he could taste it in the despicableness of the situation. Harry gulped, hoping Ron didn't realise how shaky he was.

The illumination from a nearby lamp offered dark shadows over Harry's friend's face, a gathering of overlapping shadows that held onto his skin like a desperate ex-lover. It casted an array of light against the wall, smatterings of dull golds and radiant yellows. The embroidery on their robes shimmered in the unnatural light as the two boys stared at each other like it was a game of concentration before Harry continued to speak.

"Should we go eat?" Harry asked. He began to stand, looking over Ron's shoulder to observe and see if anyone else was retreating to the Great Hall. But there was a certain look on Ron's face that seemed to say something else, like there was a question behind his expression – Harry just couldn't seem to work out what that was. The sense of unease crept over him once more.

"Mate, don't lie to me – you weren't looking too good to me, I can tell you that. I know you, Harry…" His sentence trailed off like the other words didn't seem to matter. Ron looked Harry in the eyes with acknowledgement, a clean slate of it like it had been received to him on a cold hard plate. Worry increased and jumped over boundaries of unwanted territory – but they both continued on.

"Ron. I am fine," Harry replied bluntly, his words dripping with a silky dullness like sticky threads of honey. He felt like he was walking on a tightrope – one wrong slip and all could go wrong, he could go plummeting down into the ground in an instant second.

"OK – well – er," Ron muttered awkwardly. He had seemed to think that he had done something wrong, or as if whatever he had said had triggered a deep philosophical thought in Harry's mind. "Let's go eat then, shall we? Hermione's already there, I betcha three Knuts."

Harry knew that three Knuts wasn't going to help him or Ron much at all – Ron more than Harry, seeing as Harry had a seemingly endless amount of money growing in his personal vault in the Gringotts Bank. However, the amount of money that Ron had in his family of Weasleys… well, it'd do good with some money in their life. Harry knew how much they tried, how hard they tried, how much effort they put in their lives in order to produce a satisfactory ending.

"Y-yeah, let's go eat," the other boy agreed, his scar giving him a small douse of reminiscent pain before they both exited the dorm room and continued on. Ron kept glancing over to Harry, as if he worried for his friend. He was sure he did worry for him, anyway – too much had happened to them over the last few years that the tension was almost visible as it simmered off their skin, emitting the hottest of all steam.

All was a blur of colour, sound and images as Harry, Ron and other Gryffindor boys paced their way down to the Great Hall. From here, they could both already hear the clattering of cutlery, the chattering of students, the gossiping of teenage girls as they discussed the most attractive wizards throughout history. Harry couldn't think of any other more horrible way to start the day than to wake up to that searing pain to his scar, his stomach, his head… and then to walk into the Great Hall of noise absolute. A jittery aching gutted its way through his stomach that had become a sort of cave – things upended upon themselves, folding and twisting, creating new emotions and then destroying them until he had nothing left. Whatever was wrong with Harry, he didn't think just going to the infirmary would help him whatsoever.

Portraits watched and glared at the two boys as they walked to the Great Hall. Students, the people in the portraits, the staff – everyone in Hogwarts – was probably wondering about Harry, always watching them. They all had their own opinions on the topic of whether they believed that the Dark Lord had returned or not, on whether Dumbledore was right, and on who to trust nowadays. The Death Eaters, the DA – it was all a matter of life or death now, of whose side you were on. The DA helped a lot, though – the Defence Against the Dark Arts, the powerful spells… they were all contributing to the main goal of destroying He Who Must Not Be Named, no matter what the cost. Harry had lost many loved ones, all because of Voldemort. Almost lost all hope, all because of Voldemort. Almost lost self-esteem, and it came back to the same person. He didn't care anymore what people thought of him – he knew what he was up to.

Harry sighed. Disappointment and a twitch of anger was easily heard through the tone of the sigh. Ron, thankfully, didn't comment on it and instead continued walking as if he hadn't noticed anything. Something was gnawing on the insides of Harry Potter and it wasn't hunger but a malicious content attacking, and he almost enjoyed the pain. It was alive and winning, taking over his life, and had been like that for the past week or so. He wanted a break from it – but he also wanted to _become_ that pain. He wanted to be one with the wrath and the fury.

A voice interrupted his thoughts, materialising out of nowhere and he hoped it wasn't who he was thinking it was – but the voice was there, it was coming for him. He looked over his shoulder to spot, through the crowd of Gryffindor boys and girls walking to the Great Hall for breakfast, Neville Longbottom calling Harry's name with such hurry that he seemed to almost trip over other students in order to make his way to the two friends.

"Harry! Harry! Harry, over here, over here, it's Neville, Harry!" Neville shouted, pushing his way past and politely excusing himself as he did so. Some students looked particular aggravated and others didn't even seem to notice, like they had more important things to worry about then gangly, acne-infected, growing teenage boys running for their friends.

Harry wanted to sigh out loud to indicate that he didn't necessarily want to chat to Neville – or anyone – right now, but resisted. Just because this pain was taking over his life… didn't mean that he had to take it out on his friends, who meant the world to him with their support.

Instead, the Boy Who Lived raised his eyebrows, putting a hand in front of Ron to make him stop. They both turned around, facing Neville who panted and was slightly sweaty. Whatever he needed to talk to Harry about better be worth it, it seemed. He, Harry, bit his bottom lip nervously before speaking.

"Well? What's up, Neville?" His voice sounded ever-so-slightly strained from his point of view, but Harry wasn't too bothered. They would probably think it was just from the tiredness of the whole week's homework pummelling upon his mind – not the Occlumency that he was teaching himself to make the unbearably bearable pain fade away into oblivion.

"I – well – I just wanted to tell you that – ugh, gimme a sec," Neville panted, taking a deep breath and then exhaling without the hurry that he had been in before. Such devotion just to tell the "Saviour" something extremely important. It was understandable, however – Neville's parents were the only family he had had left before they had been reduced to tortured nothings done by despicable Death Eaters, and apart from his grandmother, all he had now was his friends to rely upon.

Finally, Neville began speaking once more, his breathing more even and his skin prickling with goose-bumps, as if something had chilled him right down to the bone, "Draco wanted me to pass on a message to you – but – but – I didn't know whether or not to tell you – because… because… w-w-well, everyone knows that you two don't get along very well at all – but the message, he almost bloody well threatened me to give it to you. He pressed me against a wall, held me by my neck like this" – Neville self-demonstrated a particularly messy representation of holding his own throat – "and I didn't know what to do… so… so…. I guess I just needed to tell you, so, yeah, sorry for the racket by the way. Draco's intimidating, if you haven't noticed."

 _Almost bloody well threatened me…_ Neville had seemed so worried, so scared and frightened to say this because it seemed that he was embarrassed to say it, to admit that he _had_ been traumatised – if only a little – by Draco Malfoy, the classmate who had made many students' lives a living hell. He was a bully, a tyrant, a monstrous entity that didn't stop until they were left cowering in the shadows.

Draco _wasn't_ going to mess around with Neville – or anyone else – any longer.

"So, let me get this straight, mate," Ron muttered, contributing to the conversation like the good friend that he was to Harry and Neville. Always willing to help and support his mates, Ron Weasley had that determined look in his eyes that defined his personal characteristics – that shimmer in his eyes that implied a needed change in perspective. "Draco threatened you so that you _had_ to tell Harry a message?" He was gritting his teeth by now, completely ruined by the fact that Draco was _still_ bullying those who seemed inferior to his superiority.

"Yes," Neville replied simply.

"Oh, I'm going to get that filthy blonde boy," Ron spoke aggressively.

Harry sighed as Ron stomped away.

Just another day.


End file.
